child saver

Confessions of a child saver

Brian Dyer

I begin with what I believe to be an incontrovertible statement. It is a description of a twelve year old girl.

Her features have delicacy, timidity, and the most admirable modesty. She has a virginal air, great blue eyes, gentle with concern, a clear dazzling complexion, a small slender body, a voice of touching softness, ivory teeth, and beautiful fair hair. These are the subtle charms, whose innocent grace and delicious features are so delicate and ethereal that they would escape the very brush which would depict them.

I also state my stand, fearlessly and resolutely. I have dedicated my life to the protection of what she represents – the purity of children and the preciousness of the childhood of which she is a manifestation of its culmination and I have dedicated my life also to resisting, to death if necessary, all those who threaten these supreme, nay these absolute, values.

The Damascene moment that changed my life and catapulted me into this mission was the example of a younger man. In June 2004, 25 year old Irishman, Clifford T. Reid, an ex-prison officer, ran as a candidate in the European Parliament elections hoping to become one of Ireland’s MEPs. His platform was ‘Stop the paedophiles’. As an ex-prison officer, forced to quit the prison service because of his campaign, he had dedicated himself ‘to stopping the predators that destroy the lives of innocent children’. His hard-hitting demands were to publicly identify and electronically tag all convicted sex offenders after their release, and to allow everyone access to the sex offenders’ register. Interviewed on TV he said that he wanted ‘to protect childhood’, searing words that changed my life. Unfortunately the posters he put up all over Dublin and the east of the country with the slogan ‘Stop the paedophiles’ together with his own photograph were misunderstood and he did badly in the election. It might be a comfort to him to know that he was one of the instruments that finally decided the course of my life.

I believe I was ready for the cause because, yes, I too am a survivor of abuse. I will spare the reader the details, the pain of overcoming the initial denial, the guilt, the ordeal of coming forward to finally make the revelations, the life-long damage that even the financial compensation I received failed to remedy, the continuing fear that as a victim of abuse I could go on to abuse others. All these were finally channelled into my crusade. I believe that I have transcended them, becoming more pure in the process.

I found other heroes: like Chris Wittwer, the UK champion who has set up a web site and a Facebook page for locating and identifying sex offenders, who helps neighbours to expose them, rout them, drive them on and ensure that they are not a future threat to their children. Chris is a big, rough-at-first-sight, football fan with a heart of gold and, like myself, he has a passion for children, which incidentally he also discovered after a holiday in Thailand. What we both saw and experienced there in the downtown streets of sin was sickening and we decided even as we flew home to dedicate our lives to saving women and children. But the British authorities did not like Chris Wittwer’s policing activities and jailed him, using as the excuse some innocent fun they tried to describe as ‘football hooliganism’. It did not stop the brave Chris who carried on his campaign upon his release. Chris probably copied his idea from the brilliant US Fox TV ‘To catch a predator’ series that laid honey traps for predatory men and caught them in the act with police embedded in their camera crews. They had the reward of seeing most of them jailed while some of them were driven to a well-deserved suicide.

I have other heroes. A brave gay Irish man who when only a teenager was seduced by a gay priest who was in his Twenties. He later ran away from home and was forced into prostitution on the streets of Dublin. Despite being paid a considerable sum of hush money by the Church, he still had the courage to sue them anyway, including suing the Pope. The gay priest who had almost ruined his life committed suicide on the night before his trial, thus even cheating justice. The victim went from strength to strength, ran for political office, set up a survivors group and, finally, gaining an ultimate prize for brave victims, became a director of Amnesty. It did not end there because he and his gay partner went on to informally adopt two boys.

I feel privileged that both science and history support my convictions and my personal stand, and may I add for those readers who are fellow-believers I know with absolute certainty that I have God also on my side. From the mid-1970s we have had both the scientific expansion of the psychiatric profession (as manifested in the DSM disorder manual), resulting in detailed explanations of the causes and symptoms of sexual perversions, thanks to the existence of committees of wise individuals who find the courage, integrity and objectivity to study such deviations from the norm and both codify them and diagnose them. Like our judges and senior police officers and many of our best leaders, they use this science in an honest and unbiased manner, as any professional might study and try to cure a sexual perversion without becoming infected with it. One of the great developments of the 20th century was the identification and final naming of the paedophile, which label for once and for all exposed the perversions of Ancient Greece for what they were. Thank God that we have reached plateaus of morality that the Ancient Greeks were not even aware could exist as they wallowed in their ignorance and depravity. The other much-needed development was the emergence and expansion of brave feminists who have silenced male opposition and astonishingly commandeered whole universities, publishing, social services and most of the media in a bloodless coup. Perhaps they above all others have ensured that our children are now in a state of protection, much safer from the dangers of the predatory outside world.

Returning to my own journey towards the light. One summer day, about twenty years ago, while in Dublin on annual holidays, I was walking in the Wicklow Mountains. As I came down a steep slope, I saw a young girl or boy standing crying, holding knuckles to eyes, elbows raised, calling out to me. It was a Spanish student, one of thousands who come each summer to Ireland to learn English. The bus, carrying the group, had gone around to the other side of the mountain to pick them up after they crossed over the summit. This lost one had turned back, thinking the bus was still on this side, and the rest of the party had gone on without noticing that one was missing. Between sobs, the poor creature tried to explain in English, so I said, “Come with me and we'll drive around and see if the bus is still there.”

She, or he, walked down the mountain beside me, sobbing subsided, but still frightened at having to call for help from a strange man. I glanced surreptitiously at her, trying to figure out whether she was a girl or a pretty boy, but could not see any bumps under her sweater. I asked her name and age, and she told me she was Maria, thirteen, so I knew she was a girl. I comforted her as best I could, wanting to press her hand, or pat her back, but I feared that would frighten her even more. The bus had definitely gone, so I drove her back to the Dublin suburb and to her Irish host family.

You ask if my new mission in life has changed my view of this little story. It has indeed, for because of the stories I have been immersed in I now sadly know how certain other men would have behaved had they been presented with a similar situation. I thank God for my natural fatherly inclinations, because there are men who would not have led her safely home. Surprisingly, it took years after the event for me to realize this and then slowly the filth that I had been increasingly exposed to began to re-cast the Maria experience in my mind.

Some would say that we should not even think about it, but it was that kind of cover-up which allowed secret abuse to be perpetuated for centuries so we must speak up and name both the details of the abuse and its perpetrators. There are men who would have led Maria down into the trees, to a mossy patch, say, between the pines and some high boulders. And, once there, they would have said to her, “You stand there now facing me, as I want to sit on this boulder and look at you.” To my horror, each time this thought of what such perverse monsters would do returned I found the musing about it becoming more detailed - the kind of location, forbidden touches and unbuttoning, what her reaction would be, how he would respond. But I also discovered that such musings had the value of making me hate the perverts all the more.

Perhaps the greatest triumph in the fight to protect childhood and the purity of children has been how the media have taken to the cause. Unflinchingly, through newspaper columns, books and television documentaries, and not sparing any of the details formerly swept under the carpet or airbrushed away, journalists and program makers tell the whole horrifying story of how the beautiful bodies of innocents are defiled, about the monstrosity of obtaining pleasure from studying illicit images of them over the Internet, such as little nudist children running, skipping and doing somersaults, of abuse in care homes, schools, and even in churches. The public has rallied bravely to this cause and not, as we might have expected, running away from such stories but has steeled itself to absorb all of them and even more as they become known. Indeed, one of the compelling facts of our brave new world is the apparently insatiable public appetite for facing the truth about the sexual abuse of the legally-under aged.

A good example of this will to face the horrors squarely and resolutely in Ireland where so much abuse has been exposed is in the work of child protection campaigner Mary Rafferty, who arguably did the most damage to the Roman Catholic Church in Ireland through her revelations of clerical and related residential abuses, and who when given pride of place in an editorial in The Irish Times after the publication of the most recent report on clerical child abuse, led off as follows: “There is one searing, indelible image to be found in the pages of the Dublin diocesan report on clerical child abuse. It is that of (a priest), who admitted sexually abusing dozens of children, towering over a small girl as he brutally inserts an object into her vagina and then her back passage.

“That object is his crucifix.”

Back in the darker ages we would have condemned such an explicit description. Not any more – we welcome it! Indeed we thank Mary Rafferty for it! We say let us have more, even more!

I will end as I began on a personal note. Recently, while visiting a neighbour’s farm, I was staring across a gate at some horses when a beautiful young girl, a daughter of the family, around eleven or twelve, approached me with a big smile. I turned, my back to the gate, to greet her. With typical simple innocence she came right up to me, wide-eyed in friendly curiosity to ask about my reaction to the horses. I could not fail to notice how close she stood to me in her guileless trust. Afterwards as with the Maria incident I began to muse about how certain other men might have reacted to her.

I had briefly touched the backs of her shoulders in a fatherly acknowledgement of her closeness. What every normal man might do. But then the thought of what a pervert, a pedo, would have done insinuated itself into my consciousness. Where my hands had rested briefly and virtuously on the back of her maidenly shoulders, his would have slid furtively down until they rested on her buttocks.

The justification for that horrible thought was the white-heat of rage that filled me, directed at all child defilers. How I hate them! How I wish they could all he hanged!

Note from editor

This short story would lend itself to presentation in a video. The author would be happy to co-operate. He has also written a fable titled The Island of Camolin.

Going inside the mind of a paedophile

A great breakthrough in the methodology of understanding paedophiles has been made by Debra Bennett, a senior detective sergeant in Australia. Debra suggested to Dan Oakes, journalist with the Brisbane Times, that those of us fighting this crime should learn how to go inside the mind of the paedophile. This is such a simple idea that one wonders why no-one has suggested it before.

Bennett spent four years training with the FBI, studying the motivations and behavioural signals of arsonists, kidnappers, sex criminals and killers, and went on to obtain a doctorate in psychology.

''In general sex offenders have no idea why they've done it. They really don't want to look at it, they don't want to sit down with a middle-aged woman and talk about their porn collection or fantasies,'' she said.

Professor Forthright of the British institute for the study of sexual perversions was greatly taken with Bennett’s approach.

“This could be the biggest breakthrough yet in the study of the paedophile. But we must take it to its logical conclusions.”

What were they?

“Well if we are to go inside the mind of the paedophile – and I fully endorse Bennett’s view that we need to, we obviously have to see children through his eyes, or young people as appears to mainly be the case. For example, girls in their early teens.”

You mean?

“Yes, of course, how else if we are to understand the paedophile. How does he see them? We know that he should not see them in this manner, but come on, let’s face it! He sees their youth, their blooming cheeks, their lithe and taut bodies. He gets excited. He drools!”

Interview with Professor Forthright ends here.

(Brisbane Times interview - http://www.brisbanet)